Bereft of care, a plate of dissatisfaction placed down by a kind face with a sad heart. No love was put into this. No passion. Just a routine of pouring, boiling, scouping, shaking and portioning ad infinitum.
The broth is lifeless, the beef strangely textured, the herbs bruised as my heart was after taking a bite.
No, this is not the way to broth mountain, this is where people hide in the shadows trying to make a penny before the apocalypse.
The quest to find a decent bowl of ramen in every country on earth.